


Tuesday Night Dinners

by Lebaas



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Romantic Fluff, Tears, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebaas/pseuds/Lebaas
Summary: “John B?”, Sarah asked, now concerned. She had never seen John B cry like this before. Not when cops were chasing him for a crime he didn’t commit. Not when her father stole the gold out from under him. Not when they were driving a boat straight into the gates of hell and not in the few moments they had recovered in the sea and realized they were alone and stranded. No, the thing that caused John B to break down was the simple offering of spaghetti on a secondhand plate.
Relationships: Sarah Cameron/John B. Routledge
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	Tuesday Night Dinners

Tuesday Night Dinners

\--------------------------------

John B shouldn’t have taken that extra restaurant shift. He was always too much of a pushover when it came to his friends, so when a coworker had asked if he could go home early, John B hadn’t refused. This friend had been one of the first to welcome him and Sarah into their new home in Nassau. He had even helped John B get this job in the first place. So, of course John B had helped. And upon further reflection, he would do it again. But loyalty and morals didn’t help John B’s feet ache any less. And it didn’t replace the afternoon that John B should have spent with Sarah as opposed to serving tourists and Kookareans (a term coined by Sarah during one of their drunken nights in the hammock together. She’d claimed that this _Caribbean_ island had its fair share of _Kooks_ and had accidentally mixed the words together amongst her giggling fits. They had laughed together for around half an hour before their playful slaps turned into gentle caresses and their laughter into moans).

John B loved that hammock. He loved the view that it provided of the water and he loved the house that went along with it. He loved its one bedroom with a pillow that smelled like Sarah’s perfume and the plants that Sarah was adamant about filling the house with. He liked the fact that he was able to pay for it upfront with no questions asked (turns out gold was a lot easier to sell when it was broken up into smaller chunks and sold in multiple locations). 

The only thing about the house that John B didn’t like were the 5 steps leading up to the porch. The 5 steps that seemed like 500 steps to John B’s tired feet. Sarah had thought it was a good idea to get jobs so that they could establish themselves and start making connections into the community. Hopefully someone would tell them where ‘Carribean National’ was or where private planes landed. Maybe they would even overhear gossip about 400 million in gold falling from the sky. Turns out all John B could get was a morning shift restaurant job. Sarah had scored a job teaching surfing lessons in the mornings though, so her job received a lot more action and gossip from the wealthier crowds. 

“Sarah”, John B yelled as he took off his apron and passed by the window outback, “I’m gonna change out of my work clothes and shower. Pizza sound alright?” 

“I’m actually thinking spaghetti,” Sarah’s voice proclaimed from the kitchen in front of him. A fact which startled John B into dropping his apron and staring in wide eyed wonder at the kitchen. Not only was it absent of its normal clutter, but there were pots on the stove and something that smelled suspiciously like garlic bread emanating from the oven. 

Then there was Sarah, leaning against the counter with a smile on her lips and a spaghetti spoon in her hand. The calm, soothing sound of the waves flowed through the window and the table was set for two. Sarah had even managed to pick some wildflowers from outside the house and place them on a water filled cup in the middle of the table. There were candles lit and the last beams of the sun were squeezing their way through the window in order to wash Sarah’s face with a heavenly sort of light.

In that moment John B felt all of his exhaustion disperse and be replaced by a new wave of emotions in his chest. Love, admiration, awe, pride, lust, confusion, joy, love. It was as if his heart had been hit by a hurricane and this storm was now controlling his emotions. The waters were turbulent and relentless and wouldn’t still until he collided with the woman who had caused it. 

He strode over to Sarah and in just 4 short strides he pushed her up onto their counter and pinned her against the wall. Engulfing his mouth with hers. She gave a surprised squeak as his storm met her shore, though the squeak soon turned into a moan as John B’s mouth collided with hers. His hands roamed frantically around her body, pulling and scraping and grasping for any sort of contact he could find. 

“Don’t get too excited”, she giggled in a breathy laugh between kisses, trying to downplay her actions and calm the surge of emotions that was now growing inside her, “It’s only spaghetti” 

At that humble declaration the hurricane in John B’s chest started leaking out from him, forming tears that streamed down his face. Salt mixed into their kisses and Sarah pulled away in an astonished realization. 

“John B?”, Sarah asked, now concerned. She had never seen John B cry like this before. Not when cops were chasing him for a crime he didn’t commit. Not when her father stole the gold out from under him. Not when they were driving a boat straight into the gates of hell and not in the few moments they had recovered in the sea and realized they were alone and stranded. No, the thing that caused John B to break down was the simple offering of spaghetti on a secondhand plate. 

“John B are you alright”, Sarah said again, trying to pull John B out from the crook in her neck. Something else had to be seriously wrong, she thought to herself. Had someone died? Did they have to leave again? 

“I can’t remember the last time anyone made me a home cooked meal”, he stated while still nuzzled into Sarah’s warm embrace and clinging to her as if she was his only source of air. 

At that, a metaphorical lightbulb appeared in Sarah Cameron’s mind. This man that she loved- this strong, proud, brave man who could take on the world without a care- had never really had permeance. Before this life in Nassau, John B’s life had revolved around maybes. Maybe his house would be taken from him in the morning. Maybe he would be forced to leave his friends, maybe his dad was really dead. Why would you fill a fridge with groceries if you never knew when you would be forced to leave? 

“What about your dad? I bet he made some pretty good meals”, Sarah replied as her hand went to comb through John B’s mess of curly locks. 

“It was mostly just, just microwave meals and that sort of thing”, John B replied with a slight stutter as he strained to get his emotions under control. “His work was just so important, you know, and he was so close to a breakthrough that he didn’t really have time for fancy dinners.” 

Sarah continued to comb through his hair as she let the gravity of that statement sink in. How the pizza boxes and takeout that littered his house hadn’t just been a late-night snack or a last-minute thought. They had been legitimate meals that were as common as her forced family socializations. 

Dinners that Sarah had groaned over and dreaded. Dinners that had, in her eyes, only added more bubble wrap to her already predictable life. She would see Rose drinking way more than was necessary and would hear Rafe bragging about his businesses. She would hear dad talk about hedge funds or his latest golf scores. And, at the end of the night, her and Wheezy would laugh together at the insanity of it all. 

Yet, looking back on it, some of Sarah’s fondest memories had been over those dinners. It was through this time that she could vent about her love life or learn about the simple happenings of her family. In the early years, when her real mom would organize the meals, there would be laughing and smiling and drinking milk right before so it splashed out of their noses. Yes, those meals were times that she cherished and ones that she couldn’t imagine living without. 

“John B”, Sarah began cautiously as John B’s sniffling was dying down.

“Yeah,” he responded in a muffled tone, still tucked into her neck. Sarah nudged her shoulder up and John B chuckled a bit before lifting up his head, “Yeah” he repeated again with dry but red-rimmed eyes. 

“Let’s do this every Tuesday night”, she said as she tapped his nose with the previously discarded spaghetti spoon. 

“What? Me cry into your arms, or the making out beforehand?”, John B countered with his usual snark. 

“The meal you dolt”, Sarah replied with a smile. “I mean, it won’t always be spaghetti, and you’ll have to help out too because it’s a lot of work and you can’t just wheedle your way out of it. We’ll have to get more groceries, of course, because I used up the bread for this meal and…” 

She was cut off mid-sentence by another searing kiss from John B.

“Tuesday nights”, he said when they parted for air. His tears fully dried and replaced with a full-blown smile. “Tuesday nights”, he repeated as he leaned in to kiss her again. This time the kiss was slow and sweet. Expressing just how much this meant to him. Expressing just how much she meant to him…. 

“Shit”, Sarah exclaimed as the pasta started to boil over and the sizzling pot started to shriek. She quickly detangled herself and jumped off the counter to save what she could of the unattended noodles. 

“I’ll get the drinks,” John B said as he opened up the fridge and grabbed both of their preferred beverages. The fact that he automatically knew brought a smile to her face. 

True, their adventures were far from over. But for now, they had each other. And in the never relenting tempest of the world around them, they would create whatever semblance of permanence they could. 

For now, they would have Tuesday night dinners.


End file.
